


Of Cliffs and Walls and Terrible Falls

by tabru



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:00:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29392356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabru/pseuds/tabru
Summary: While escorting a disgruntled young prince safely from Arnor to Imladris, memories of Erestor's own unhappy childhood surface, and a secret he's been keeping from Glorfindel is finally revealed.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	Of Cliffs and Walls and Terrible Falls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



_There is a high wall of rocks to Erestor’s left and a sheer drop off a cliff to his right, and he cries out in fear without knowing why. Perhaps it is the feeling of being trapped, or perhaps it is because he can’t find his parents. Maybe he’s afraid of the bottomless drop beside him—one false step and he’ll be in Mandos before he can even think to scream for help. Maybe it’s the sound of the people around him shouting that makes him afraid. Perhaps it’s all of these things combined._

_A stranger picks him up and runs with him in her arms. She’s shouting, too. Erestor buries his face against her chest and screams._

_And then everyone cries out in one voice, the high walls of the mountain pass echoing their terror, and the horror of it fills Erestor with a despair he’s too young to understand. He shuts his eyes tight. He doesn’t want to see what is making everyone afraid. But he hears it._

_He hears a monster._

***

_Arnor  
The 197th Year of the Third Age_

“Erestor.”

Erestor blinked and looked over at his companion. Glorfindel’s face was half-amused, half-concerned. “Did you hear nothing I said?”

“I…” Erestor started, and then stopped, feeling foolish. “I apologize; my mind was…wandering.”

“Oh? Where to?”

Erestor shook his head. “Nowhere.” He looked back at the sullen prince riding behind them. The boy’s horse was too large and grand for such a small rider, but the absurdity of the image was just the distraction Erestor needed to wake himself from his dark thoughts. “He’d be better suited in the wagon, don’t you agree?”

Glorfindel peered over his shoulder at the boy and then back at Erestor. “Yes, I suggested that very same thing to the young prince, but he insisted on riding.”

“He’s too stubborn for his own good,” Erestor said.

“Hmm,” Glorfindel agreed. “It’s a family trait.” He paused, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he brought his horse closer to Erestor’s. “But don’t tell Elrond I said that.”

Erestor laughed. “Believe me, I won’t. I’d like your fair head to remain on your shoulders.”

The mischievous look in Glorfindel’s eyes deepened. He straightened upon his white stallion, his golden hair falling down his back like sunlight through a thick canopy of trees. “You think me fair?”

Erestor rolled his eyes. “As if I don’t tell you that very thing a hundred times a night.”

Glorfindel pushed his horse closer still to where Erestor rode until the stallions’ necks were touching, and then he leaned over and brushed the tip of Erestor’s ear with his lips. “Well then, you must know that I enjoy hearing you say it,” he whispered and Erestor shivered in response. And then he pulled away, flicking his golden hair over his shoulder, and continued to lead the small party down the winding, country road.

***

“I said I’m not hungry.”

Erestor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “My lord, a hunger-protest shall serve no one, least of all yourself.”

Prince Arantar crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Erestor looked up at the nearby Dúnedain guards that had accompanied them from Annúminas, but they just shrugged helplessly. If the prince had decided he was going to starve himself, then there was little anyone was going to be able to do about it.

Erestor sighed again. “Very well, princeling. If you change your mind…” He laid a bowl of stew beside the boy and then walked off toward the edge of the camp to vent his frustration to nature before he caused a political disaster.

The wide lands between Annúminas and the Weather Hills were largely uninhabited. Small farms dotted the landscape here and there, and the roads were neglected and overrun with tall grass and wild flowers. It was a beautiful land, albeit remote and rather lonely, but Erestor was in too sour a mood to enjoy it. Their royal charge was proving to be unexpectedly bothersome, and Erestor had half a mind to turn the whole party around and head back to Annúminas. “Here, take your wretched grandson back,” he imagined himself saying to King Valandil. “The Valley of Imladris doesn’t need a whiny prince disrupting the peace.”

Glorfindel, who’d been scouting ahead for an hour or so, was now making his way back toward camp through waist-high grass. His hands trailed idly over the tops of the flowering plants as he came closer to the clearing, and Erestor watched him, mesmerized. The setting sun was on his face and reflected in his eyes. Glorfindel was a living flame, bright and gold and dangerous.

“You are the most glorious being in Creation,” Erestor thought to himself as Glorfindel joined him at the edge of camp. But instead, he flicked his head toward Arantar and said: “If he dies of starvation, do you think we’ll be held responsible?”

Glorfindel glanced at the sulking prince. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. We can always hold him down and pour that stew down his throat.”

Erestor felt a vicious delight in imagining that scenario unfold.

“I wish Elrond were here,” Glorfindel said, sighing. “He’d know what to say to the boy. I’ve no gift with children.”

“Nor I,” Erestor said, then he frowned. “But you were always so good with Elladan and Elrohir when they were at that age.”

Glorfindel smiled reminiscently and it was as like the sun breaking across the horizon. “Yes, well, whenever they’d show signs of petulance, I’d send them back to their father.”

“Ah, I see,” Erestor said. He shook his head at the prince and then looked away toward the west. The sun was huge as it began to fall behind the distant hills. “I wish we could send Arantar back to his father.”

“Arantar seems to wish the same,” Glorfindel replied. “He’ll feel differently once he reaches Imladris. We just need to get him there safely.”

The sun seemed suddenly red and angry, like a monster waiting to devour them. And Glorfindel’s words felt like an ill omen. Children were vulnerable, and safety was hard to come by in the wilderness.

And monsters were always waiting.

***

_Erestor turns his head enough to see the Balrog that blocks the escape out of Gondolin. He screams again. He wants to look away, but he’s frozen._

_The demon roars, deafening, and Erestor can feel it reverberating in his chest, in his bones, in his spirit. Will it hurt to die, he wonders. Will it be quick? Will he find his parents in Mandos?_

_There is a flaming sword in the Balrog’s hand and he raises it against the frightened people of Gondolin, but he doesn’t bring it down upon them. Because a sudden light is standing between them and the monster, and the light is brighter than the demon’s sword, and swifter, and more beautiful._

_Erestor shouts, but this time not out of fear. He shouts for the hope that blossoms in his chest._

***

“You’ve seemed awfully distracted ever since we left Annúminas,” Glorfindel said, sitting down beside Erestor in front of the campfire. To their right, the exhausted prince was sleeping fitfully, his legs twitching as if he were trying to run away. One of the Dúnedain guards pulled a blanket over the boy before moving to take his watch at the edge of the camp.

“Have I?” Erestor asked lightly.

“You have,” Glorfindel said firmly.

Erestor shook his head. “I just have a lot on my mind, I suppose.”

“Tell me,” Glorfindel said. He rested his hand on Erestor’s knee, and somehow Erestor managed not to react at all. The firelight danced before his eyes, and it almost hurt to look at, but looking at Glorfindel in that moment would hurt even more.

“Or don’t,” Glorfindel said after a long moment and withdrew his hand. There was a sudden edge to this voice. Despite the heat of the nearby fire, the loss of Glorfindel’s touch brought a chill to Erestor’s whole body.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor said, looking at him at last. And it hurt more than he thought it would. Glorfindel’s eyes were full of an unreadable emotion.

“I don’t understand why you won’t confide in me,” Glorfindel pressed, his voice low. “Have I done something to create mistrust or…?”

“No,” Erestor said, a bit too loudly. The Men of Arnor cast them curious looks. The young prince whimpered in his sleep. “No,” Erestor said again, softer. “It’s…nothing. Truly. All is well.” He offered Glorfindel a smile that he was certain looked as forced as it felt.

Glorfindel’s own expression seemed closed off, guarded. “I see.” He stood.

“Where are you going?” Erestor asked anxiously, as though Glorfindel had suddenly announced plans to throw himself upon his sword.

“To check on the horses,” Glorfindel replied. “Perhaps I’ll find better conversation with them.”

He walked off and Erestor watched his retreat with regret. Beside him, the boy suddenly jerked awake and called out for his mother.

“Your Lady Mother is not here,” Erestor said to him, his words sounding as cold as he felt.

The young prince blinked at him, reality replacing dreams, and he slowly laid back down on his blankets.

Erestor pretended not to notice the boy crying.

***

_A lone warrior in shining armor stands between the Balrog and the people of Gondolin, and Erestor watches in rapt attention as the golden Elf battles the monster upon the edge of the mountain pass. The whole crowd gasps and cries out with each swing of sword and crack of whip, and the rock walls of the cliffs glow with red and gold light. Erestor is close enough to feel the heat from the demon’s fire._

_“Don’t look, child,” the Elf holding him says, but he can’t look away. He won’t look away._

_And he will never forget._

***

The next day, clouds rolled overhead, heavy and grey, and by late afternoon, a drizzling rain had begun. This suited Erestor’s gloomy mood perfectly, a mood that was reflected by Prince Arantar. Even Glorfindel seemed more dimmed than usual, and he’d barely spoken more than a handful of words to Erestor the entire day.

Erestor spent most of that day’s ride watching Glorfindel’s back, the elegant curve of his spine, the way his hips rocked gently with his horse’s gait, and wished he could put his pain into words.

Now and then, Erestor would turn to check on Prince Arantar, who still refused to eat, and was sitting pale and silent on his horse, the unchecked tears upon his face mixing with the rain. He cut a pathetic enough figure that Erestor’s initial disdain for the boy melted into pity, and he allowed his horse to fall into step beside the prince’s.

Arantar looked up at him askance. “What do you want?”

Erestor pulled a small, leaf-shaped parcel out from within his cloak. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“Lembas,” Erestor said, pulling the wrapping down enough so that the prince could see. “Made by the Lady of Rivendell herself. I wouldn’t be so hasty to reject such a gift.”

The boy pursed his lips, and Erestor could practically see the hungry thoughts chasing through his young mind. “Very well,” he said at last, and accepted the bread. “Mother says never to turn down a gift, especially one from a lady.”

“Your mother taught you well.”

If possible, the boy looked suddenly even more miserable. “Then why are you taking me away from her? And from my father and sisters? I had plenty of teachers there, I don’t need a new tutor!”

Erestor sighed. “You’ve had good teachers in Annúminas, there is no arguing that, but Lord Elrond is the greatest teacher in Middle-earth. You will learn much from him that those in Annúminas cannot teach you.”

“But I don’t want to learn from him! I want to go home!”

“As the Heir of Isildur, you must do what is required of you, even if it is painful. And it will often be painful.”

“Easy for you to say,” the boy said, picking at the lembas. “You’ve never had to leave your home and your family. You never had to go to a strange land with strange people.”

“You’re so sure, are you?” Erestor looked ahead at Glorfindel, and his heart ached. I’m sorry, he thought. I do trust you. I just don’t know how to tell you.

“Have you ever heard of Gondolin?” Erestor asked the boy suddenly.

Arantar looked up at him quickly. “Yes. A little. I know that it was a great city and it fell. And I know…” His eyes trailed to look at Glorfindel. “I know that he was there. The bards sing of his fall in the Great Hall of Annúminas.”

Erestor smiled sadly. “I was there, too.” It felt odd to get the words out. Words he’d kept locked in his heart for millennia.

“You were?” The boy seemed to have forgotten his misery. He was looking up at Erestor in expectation. “What was it like? Did you slay many Orcs? Did you fight a Balrog, too?”

Erestor shook his head. “No, I did not fight. I was just a boy, like you.”

“I can fight,” the boy said, offended. “I’m not just a boy.”

“I’m sure you’re very skilled,” Erestor said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I may not have fought, but I saw much that day,” he continued. “I saw…” He looked toward Glorfindel again, beautiful and strong. “I saw him.”

“What was it like, the Fall of Gondolin?” The prince demanded excitedly around a mouthful of lembas. “Did you see the Balrog? Did you see Lord Glorfindel slay the demon?”

“I did. I saw many terrible things, things I hope you never have to see. I lost everyone that day. I lost my home. The Eagles came and took us away from Gondolin and no one ever went back. Now it lies beneath the waves.” He turned and looked hard at the prince. “How lucky you are to have a home, safe and awaiting your eventual return, and a family, alive and well, who will be happy to visit you each midwinter.”

The boy looked down at his hands, still clutching the lembas.

“It will be hard at first, but you’ll come to cherish your time in Rivendell,” Erestor assured him. “There’s no place like it in all the lands east of the sea. And you’ll learn and grow and make your father proud, as he made his father proud. And you will make many new friends in the Valley, and you will love them.”

The boy still looked unconvinced. “But I’ll be all alone, with no kin.”

“Hardly, Master Arantar!” Erestor said with a small laugh. “You’ll find plenty of kin—though distant, to be sure. Lord Elrond is your uncle; albeit many generations removed, and yet I think you’ll see the family resemblance straight away. He’s got a stubborn streak not unlike your own.”

The boy glared at him. “I’m not so stubborn.”

“Oh, my mistake.”

Arantar looked thoughtful for a moment. “My father lived in Rivendell when he was my age, yes?”

“Yes, and very happy he was there. And your grandfather, King Valandil, was raised in Rivendell, too. It was there that he learned how to be a good and wise leader. You shall learn this also, so that when it is your time to claim the throne of your fathers, you will be ready.”

“I…I want to be a good king someday,” the boy said in a small voice. “Elrond can teach me this?”

“Yes,” Erestor said, smiling. “He will. But the first lesson starts now. Put your people’s needs before your own. Go to Rivendell and learn how to lead them.”

***

By nightfall, the light rain that had plagued them on the road had become a torrent. Sheltering within their tents, they waited out the storm as lightning crashed overhead. Erestor wondered morosely if Glorfindel would join him in their tent, or if he would continue to ignore him elsewhere. He was beginning to suspect the latter, when at last Glorfindel, soaked to the bone, pushed aside the canvas flap and entered the tent.

“You’re half-drowned,” Erestor said, trying to move the dry supplies out of the path of the dripping Glorfindel.

“The horses needed tending,” Glorfindel said simply, ringing out his hair. A river of water flowed onto one of the bedrolls.

“Ai, Glorfindel!” Erestor protested, moving too late to save the bedroll. “Can’t you be more careful?”

Glorfindel made no response, and began to peel the sodden layers of clothing off of himself.

“Here, let me help…” Erestor said and reached out toward him. Glorfindel stiffened, and Erestor half-expected him to pull away, but the golden-haired Elf allowed Erestor to lift the water-heavy tunic off of him.

“I didn’t think you’d want to join me here tonight,” Erestor admitted, setting the tunic aside to dry. When he turned back to Glorfindel, he was met by an exasperated look.

“I had half a mind not to,” Glorfindel said, “but…I was curious what you said to the boy that at last convinced him to eat something.”

“Ah,” Erestor said, bitterness rising in his throat. “So you’re here out of curiosity.”

Glorfindel regarded him for a long moment. At last he said: “I am curious about a great many things, Erestor. Especially things that pertain to you.” He shook his head. “For years now, you’ve allowed me to share your bed, your body…I thought in time, you would share your mind with me, your heart, but it seems you are intent on remaining a mystery. I have always been open with you, but you are closed off from me, now more than ever. You’ve built a wall between us and you will not tell me why.”

Erestor worried his teeth against his bottom lip. “I tell you things all the time.” It was a weak response, and he knew it. They both knew it.

Glorfindel sighed. “This was a mistake.” He reached for his damp tunic and stood.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor said, desperately. He felt like he was back on that cliff, all those centuries ago, perched precariously on the edge of a decision that he could never take back. If he did not tell Glorfindel what lurked in his heart, he would lose him forever. And yet, the words were stuck in his throat.

Glorfindel raised a hand to silence him.

“Please—”

“Hush!”

“I—”

“Quiet!” Glorfindel hissed. There was a sudden alertness in his eyes. And that’s when Erestor heard it, too.

From outside of the tent, one of the horses whinnied in fear.

Glorfindel met Erestor’s eyes steadily as he slowly unsheathed his sword. Erestor felt his heart beat hard in his chest as he did the same.

“On three,” Glorfindel whispered to him.

Erestor nodded tightly.

“One, two…three!”

They burst from the tent and out into the storm. The pitch blackness was illuminated only by the occasional shock of lightning against the dark sky, and yet Erestor could see the silhouettes of three large men at the edge of camp. The horses neighed in fright, one of them rearing onto its hind legs as one of the men tried to lead it away. Another streak of blue-white lightning flashed close overhead, and another of the bandits noticed Glorfindel and Erestor hurtling through the rain toward them.

Erestor could barely hear the clash of his sword against his foe’s over the booming of thunder and the roaring of the wind. The man sneered at him, and swung his sword in wild arcs, again and again, as though he meant to hack Erestor to pieces like a woodsman splintering an old stump. Erestor found it easy enough to avoid the clumsy strikes, and met each swing with his own ringing blade.

A strange calm found him, amidst the rain and the wind and the thundering sky. The silver pattern of his sword cutting across the space between himself and the bandit. The golden figure of Glorfindel at his periphery, fighting two men at once. He noted the arrival of the Dúnedain soldiers with satisfaction. The bandits would see that they were outnumbered and outmatched and would now either flee or submit.

And then he heard the cry, small and weak, over the wailing of the wind and the crashing of the thunder. Immediately, he turned and ran toward the prince’s tent, abandoning the fight, giving no heed to the sudden appearance of several more bandits at the edge of camp. There was a tightness in his chest as he ran, and it felt as though the world had slowed around him, the rain hanging like stars in the air before him as he raced in slow motion through the muddied clearing.

After what seemed an eternity, he reached the prince’s tent and shoved aside the entrance flap. And was at once met with a dagger to his throat. He froze. The young prince was sitting on the floor of the tent, shaking, eyes wide. A large, bearded man stood over him, sword in hand. The man sneered at Erestor and motioned for his companion to bring him closer.

The man who held the dagger to Erestor’s neck—a skinny man with bright red hair—pushed him further into the tent, his reeking breath hot against the side of Erestor’s face.

“Are you Elrond of Rivendell?” the bearded man asked.

Erestor stared at him. “No.”

The man spat and lifted his sword to the boy’s neck. “Don’t play games, Elf-man, lest you want to carry this child’s head back to his weeping mother.”

“I am not Elrond of Rivendell,” Erestor said, and when he saw the man’s eyes flash with anger, he added: “But I am of his household. And I represent his interests wherever I go.”

This seemed enough to pacify the man for the time being. “Fine.” He motioned toward the boy. “He’s quite small for a prince, but I imagine Elrond would pay handsomely to ensure his safety.” His eyes flicked toward the red-haired man holding the dagger on Erestor. “A bag of gold, perhaps?”

“Two bags, I’d say,” the redhead said, bringing his face even closer to Erestor’s. “I imagine this Elf of Elrond’s Household would fetch a pretty ransom, as well.”

The bearded man nodded, grinning. “Agreed, he seems important enough. I think Elrond Elf-man would pay anything to get them both back unharmed.”

“Let the boy go,” Erestor said, “and I will arrange whatever payment you wish.”

“We won’t be letting anyone go until I see gold in my hands,” the bearded man said.

“At any rate,” the redhead said, and brought his foul lips to Erestor’s ear, “I hope the Half-elf takes his time in delivering the ransom. It’d be a pity to not get a chance to play with our hostages for a while—” And then the end of a sword burst out of the front of his throat and he fell to the ground, gurgling and twitching.

Before the bearded man could react, quick as the lightning in the sky above, Glorfindel was in the tent. He picked up the fallen redhead’s dagger.

“Don’t move!” shouted the bearded man, raising his sword. “I’ll slit his throat, I swear it! He’ll be dead before—”

He never got a chance to finish his threat, for Glorfindel threw the dagger at him and hit him squarely in the chest. The man stumbled backwards, stunned, and then toppled to the ground. He did not get up.

Arantar looked between Erestor and Glorfindel and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted straight away onto the floor of the tent.

“Took you long enough,” Erestor muttered, turning to Glorfindel.

“Are you all right?” Glorfindel asked, cupping Erestor’s cheek in his hand. Erestor’s face felt suddenly very hot.

“I’m fine. You’re the one who’s been chasing about in the rain, sword in hand, like some damned hero—”

And then Glorfindel’s lips were on his and, for that one moment, nothing else mattered.

“He touched you,” Glorfindel said when at last they parted. There was fire in his eyes. “I heard what he said. What he was planning.”

“Who?” Erestor asked dreamily as he leaned into Glorfindel, not wanting the kiss to end, not wanting to go back to the bickering and the difficult questions and the long periods of terrible silence.

“Him.”

Erestor looked down at the now dead red-haired man lying at their feet. “Ah, yes. Well, I wasn’t worried. I knew you’d rescue me again.”

Glorfindel smiled in that self-satisfied way of his that never failed to drive Erestor mad. “Well, I am known for my gallant rescues.” He paused, then added: “Did you say ‘again’?”

Erestor’s stomach flipped. He cast about for a distraction and his eyes fell on the prince. “Ai, the poor boy…”

He moved to help him as several of the Dúnedain guards joined them in the tent, and Erestor was momentarily spared having to explain all the things he didn’t ever want to say out loud. But he knew he would have to voice those dark memories soon, if he wanted to keep Glorfindel with him.

***

_Erestor watches the fight, terrified and mesmerized, and he cannot tell if the fear he feels is for himself or for the brave golden warrior that battles the Balrog. He wants to do something, to help, and he is so hypnotized by the Elf and the Balrog as they struggle together at the edge of the cliff that he almost forgets he is just a small boy and he can do nothing but watch._

_At last he turns to the Elf holding him in her arms. “Will no one help him?”_

_The Elf is weeping as she responds: “What good can any do against the Balrog of Morgoth? If any has the strength to fight this demon, it is Lord Glorfindel, and yet I fear even he cannot prevail against such evil.”_

_“I will help him!” Erestor cries, but the Elf holds him all the more securely against herself._

_“You will stay with me,” she insists._

_“No, I must—” Erestor looks back at the battle just in time to see the Balrog fall…_

_…and the golden Elf follows him down, down, down..._

***

“Stop your wiggling,” Erestor said, when he and Glorfindel were once again alone in their tent. “I have to clean this cut…”

Glorfindel flinched as Erestor pressed a cloth soaked in a clear liquor against his wounded cheek.

“Does that sting?” Erestor asked.

“No,” Glorfindel answered, and then hissed in pain as Erestor renewed his ministrations.

“Ai,” Erestor said softly, fondly, “my poor, brave hero.” He brought his hand away and kissed Glorfindel’s injured cheek lightly. “Is that better?”

Glorfindel wound his arms around Erestor’s back and pulled him closer. “Yes, much better.”

Erestor sighed against his lover’s neck, savoring the touch, the closeness, the scent of him. He felt Glorfindel begin to pluck at his clothing, tugging his tunic off of his shoulders and pressing his soft lips to the bare skin beneath. Erestor shivered in delight, and allowed himself to be lowered onto his back, Glorfindel above him, straddling him, kissing him up and down.

Erestor managed to remove the rest of his clothing while simultaneously guiding Glorfindel’s hips to buck against his abdomen. Glorfindel’s hair fell like a golden curtain around them, surrounding them, shielding them in a world all their own. “Melethron,” Erestor whispered, gazing up at the luminous face above him, a face that had seen the Two Trees, and the Valar, and the wide, immortal lands of Aman.

Glorfindel captured Erestor’s mouth with his own and kissed him long and deep, his tongue sweet and nimble and driving Erestor mad with desire. He moaned with disappointment when Glorfindel broke off the kiss too soon. Glorfindel moved to drag his lips down Erestor’s chest while shifting himself between Erestor’s legs, his movements becoming quicker, more urgent, and Erestor forgot about his disappoint, he forgot everything, because the pleasure that was blossoming along the length of his shaft was all his mind had room for at the moment.

And then Erestor was flipped onto his stomach in one swift motion, his cock in Glorfindel’s hand, while Glorfindel’s own slipped easily inside him. Erestor gasped, and then felt Glorfindel push further into him. Push, push, push, again and again, until Erestor could bare it no longer, and he cried out, coming into Glorfindel’s palm. A moment later, Glorfindel came inside him, and he heard his golden lover gasp his name before falling beside him onto the floor of the tent.

Breathing hard, Glorfindel looked over at him, that smile Erestor loved so much plastered across his face. “Is that better?” Glorfindel asked, echoing Erestor’s previous question.

“Yes,” Erestor said, tangling his legs with Glorfindel’s and pressing his chest against him. He brought a hand up to trace the delicate curve of Glorfindel’s ear and his lover laughed in response.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve gotten that out of the way. Now, shall we continue our previous discussion?”

Erestor stared at him blankly for a moment. And then he remembered. He looked away from Glorfindel’s searching eyes.

“Despite what you may think,” Glorfindel said carefully, “my intention is not to force you to reveal some horrible secret you’ve kept locked away inside. In truth, I’m rather jealous of the position you’re in. For you see, I’ve had to endure the unfortunate experience of having one’s trauma announced to the whole world, sung about at feasts, told to children as a bedtime story, recounted around campfires for all to hear.” His voice was uncharacteristically bitter. “That’s not something I’d wish for anyone, least of all you.”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor began, but his voice faded again, for he could think of nothing to say to this unexpected confession.

“It’s all right,” Glorfindel said, smiling sadly. “It’s quite a tale, isn’t it? And one I’ve gotten used to hearing. What choice do I have? Having people talk so candidly about my…my death, I have to put on a brave face, otherwise I’d ruin the whole story. It wouldn’t do to see its hero fall to pieces.” He rolled onto his back and stared up at the canvas ceiling. “It’s better to pretend not to be bothered by it.”

“I didn’t know you felt this way,” Erestor said, wonderingly. He reached out and touched Glorfindel’s shoulder, rubbing it gently.

“You never asked,” Glorfindel said. He turned back to look at Erestor. “I think perhaps that’s what drew me to you in the first place. I never had to worry about you bringing up the Fall of Gondolin. You didn’t seem at all interested in it, and so I could let my guard down around you. I hoped in time you’d let your guard down around me, too. But…” He trailed off, forlorn.

“Oh, my love,” Erestor said, and felt oddly as though he were about to laugh. “I never cared to ask you about Gondolin or the fight with the Balrog because…because I didn’t need to. I was there, you see.”

Glorfindel looked sharply at Erestor. “What?”

“I was just a child,” Erestor said. “But I remember every moment. Every second. And I remember you.”

“Why…why didn’t you tell me?”

This time Erestor did laugh, a harsh, self-mocking laughter. “Why? Because I was never quite sure how to bring up the fact that you sacrificed yourself to save me…and I did nothing to help you.”

Glorfindel stared at him. “But you were a child…”

Erestor shook his head. “Yes, and yet…I never quite let go of that guilt. And then you showed up again, a second chance at life, and I thought…I could have a second chance to redeem myself.” He shook his head. “I never counted on loving you as I do.”

Glorfindel cupped Erestor’s face in his hand, rubbing his thumb along the high bones of his cheeks. “Do you? Love me?”

“Yes,” Erestor said. “With all of my heart.”

Glorfindel’s smile brightened, chasing away the shadow of sadness that had clung to it moments before. “And I love you. Can you ever forgive me for acting like such a fool, trying to force you to talk of things you were not ready to discuss?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Erestor said, capturing Glorfindel’s hand in his own and kissing it. “I was the fool to be afraid to open my heart to you, to think you wouldn’t understand.”

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Erestor and pulled him against him, and Erestor rested his head against his lover’s chest and felt like he could breathe for the first time in a very long time.

“Is that what’s been bothering you since we left Annúminas, then?” Glorfindel asked after a while of lying together in silence.

Erestor was half-asleep, his mind eager to set itself upon the path of dreams, but roused himself at the question. “Yes,” he answered sleepily. “Something about the boy reminded me of myself at that age. Alone, frightened…angry. It brought back all those old feelings. But I won’t hide them from you any longer,” he added. “I promise to never hide from you again.”

Glorfindel kissed the top of his head and held him tighter. And they lay that way until dawn at last climbed into the eastern sky.

***

The entirety of Imladris was waiting to greet Prince Arantar as he finally arrived in the Valley. Elrond, Celebrían, and their sons were standing on the large, stone steps that led into the main house, and as the travelers drew nearer, Elrond stepped forward and smiled at the boy. “Welcome, Arantar Eldacarion, Prince of Arnor and Heir of Isildur. We are honored to have you among us.”

Arantar cast a quick glance back at Erestor, who nodded at him in encouragement. The boy turned back to Elrond, bowed, and said: “Thank you, Lord Elrond. I am happy to be here among my Elven kin, and I am eager to learn from you in the manner in which my father and grandfather learned.”

Elrond’s smiled widened. He kissed the boy on either cheek and then turned to Celebrían, who joined them.

“Welcome, Prince Arantar,” Celebrían said, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “We are so very pleased you are here.”

The boy stared at her in wonder, blushing furiously and looking like he’d quite forgotten how to speak. Glorfindel laughed quietly beside Erestor. “Elrond better watch out. I think our little prince is in love.”

Erestor swatted him, but couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Celebrían led the boy up the steps and into the main house, as Elladan and Elrohir went to help the other Dúnedain get settled. Elrond, however, made his way over to where Erestor and Glorfindel stood together.

“Any trouble?” he asked in a low voice.

“None worth mentioning,” Glorfindel said easily.

Elrond looked suspicious. “What’s this then?” He reached up and gently tapped the swollen cut on Glorfindel’s cheek.

Glorfindel shrugged. “Erestor chucked a rock at my head.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow and turned to Erestor.

“He deserved it,” Erestor said mildly.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Elrond said. He was smart enough to know they were hiding something, but wise enough to know when to leave well enough alone. He sighed. “Well done, both of you, getting the prince here safely. And now I think you could both do with some rest.” He frowned slightly. “And a bath.”

“We’ll see to that straight away, my lord,” Erestor said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. The only thing he wanted in all the world was to get Glorfindel alone again.

Elrond nodded, still suspicious, but offered them both a smile. “Welcome home,” he said, and then turned to head back into the house.

“Why didn’t you tell him of the bandits?” Erestor asked as soon as Elrond was out of earshot.

“Oh, I’ll tell him in the morning,” Glorfindel replied, his eyes glinting. “But if I told him now, he’d want to hear all about it, every detail—you know how he gets—and that would take away precious time. Time better spent alone with you.”

Erestor smiled and stepped closer to him. “Then let us not waste a minute more.”

And from that moment onward, never was a minute wasted between them.


End file.
